An Angel Calling
by LostinOblivion
Summary: Karen O'Malley thought she heard an angel singing in the Boston morgue.


Jordan yawned and stretched, groaning as turned to look out the window of her office and saw night had fallen. It had been sometime ago, judging by the deep black of the night, and she hadn't even noticed. It had been unusually slow the last couple weeks, to the point where they were actually, and morbidly, hoping people would die, just so they'd have something to do. One of the pitfalls of their line of work, they hope for work, they are cruel and morbid, whereas anyone would just be considered a dedicated worker.

Needless to say, she'd gotten so caught up, when she'd finally drawn the longest straw today, and earned herself a fresh corpse, that she hadn't noticed the time. Now she felt like she'd been sitting in her office, pouring over results, photos, and notes, for hours. Cause of death was proving difficult to determine, aside form the obvious asphyxiation. The issue was more what caused the asphyxia. He hadn't be strangled, hadn't choked on anything, hadn't been hung, and it wasn't anaphylaxis. Oh, and he hadn't been crucified either. She had run out of ways to suffocate, and the only marks on his body was bruising on his chest.

Damn! That was it, she shook her head and raised her eyes to the ceiling, as if asking god why she'd been dumb enough to miss that. The poor bastard had been burked, somebody had actually sat on his chest long enough to kill him. An old method, but still effective nothing the less. She quickly scribbled it in the appropriate blank, wrote a quick summary, and decided finding William O'Malley's killer could wait until tomorrow.

Jordan reached to close the blind on her window, but stopped when she caught sight of Boston light up like someone had thrown a blanket of stars over the city. It was hypnotizing, just watching the lights in offices be extinguished as their inhabitants finally called it a night, and clothing stores, and little boutiques close down, leaving the city just a tiny bit darker. What the hell, she could stay a while, wasn't like she had anyone to go home to anyway. She pulled her guitar case from where she'd stood it in the corner, her entertainment over the last couple slow weeks, and pulled out the gleaming, honey-colored wood.

She played a few notes to warm up, and hummed softly to herself, searching her mind for a song. She picked an Irish folk song her father taught her, and let her fingers hit the first few keys, before letting her voice join in a duo. Her eyes wandered from the slim cords, back to night-swept Boston, and it's glowing lights. She allowed her voice to grow louder with the music, and began to lose herself in the song. Nobody else would be here this late, there would be no one to disturb.

* * *

Karen O'Malley wandered through the darkened hallways, wondering if the guard downstairs actually knew if anyone was still up here this late, or if he just wanted to get rid of her. She'd just picked up a message that her husband was found dead, at only fifty-seven, before he even got the chance to retire. She'd been at her sister's all day, and hadn't gotten home to check her messages until about thirty minutes ago. Billy hadn't been home, but still she couldn't imagine that he could be dead. Still she had to know if it was true, or some god awful mistake, so she hopped a cab to the Boston morgue. It looked dark, very dark in the offices, and she didn't see a light on anywhere. Still, she had to know, so she walked through the corridors, following the signs to the crypt, where she imagined she'd find her husband.

She pushed open the door, and was greeted with the barely masked stench of death, and the very strong stench of sterilizing products. Everything in the room was steel, aluminum or glass, and seemed so cold and unwelcoming, she felt a chill run up her spine. She found her way to the wall of drawers in the back, and began reading through the names, stunned that so many of the drawers were occupied. She felt another chill as the reality of Boston from this viewpoint hit her; it was a big city with a lot of people that had to one day find their way to one of these drawers, many no doubt, prematurely.

She found Billy's name and grabbed the handle, pulling at it. It didn't give, so she grabbed it tighter, and pulled the drawer even harder, surprised when it came rolling out. As she was staring at the white sheet wrapped around her husband, a string of softly sung words hit her ears. Her head jerked up, the office had been empty, but yet, she heard the unmistakable sounds of an Irish folk song, accompanied by a guitar. The strangest thought dawned on her: had her mother been right? The old, traditionalist had always said that angels come and sing, to call the dead to heaven. She had insisted the day Karen's father had a heart attack that she heard angels singing.

Had her mother actually been telling the truth, did angels call her father to heaven? She hadn't believed it then, chocked it up to her mother being brought up on too many Irish folk tales, but now she wasn't so sure. She knew she heard that singing, the delicate, beautiful voice of a woman, and she stopped to listen more closely. Yes, it was definitely there. An angel had come to sing to her husband, to call his spirit to heaven.

She drew back the white sheet, and her breath caught as she saw Billy's face. This was the man she'd spent 35 years with, and never regretted a day. And, with the exception of a few wondering gazes, they'd stayed faithful to each other the whole time. But now, Billy looked pale, or rather more than pale, his face taking on an almost bluish tinge, from lack of blood and lack of life. And, he looked so much older than he ever had to her. Maybe it was the absence of the light in his eyes, or the constant smile plastered all over his face, but he never seemed old, and he could make her feel twenty years younger. She picked up his from under the sheet, and allowed her warm tears to rain over his cold body.

After a few moments, she placed a kiss to his forehead, and drew the sheet over his head, content that the angel still singing was going to bring him back with her to heaven. She was about to shove the drawer back in it's slot, when the door swung open behind her, and a young man walked in, startling her. She turned around to face him, standing in front of the box, as if ready to protect Billy, if this was a demon come to battle the angel for his soul.

"Hi, uh I'm Detective Hoyt. Can I help you?" She relaxed as he flicked on the light, allowing it to pour out over his baby face.

"Oh, no. I was just saying goodbye to my husband. I was about to leave." She assured him, pushing the drawer closed, as he approached.

He read the tag when he got close enough, "Oh, Mrs. O'Malley, I'm the detective on you're husband's case."

She was surprised a moment, he hadn't occurred to her that there would be an investigation, she had assumed it had been a heart attack or something natural. "Well, when you find out what happened, will you call me?"

"Of course. Uh, how about I show you out." Now he was surprised that she didn't seem troubled.

"Do you hear that, Detective?" She asked, as he led her through the halls.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about ma'am." He answered, before realizing she must have meant the singing, which he hadn't noticed and now was surprised to hear.

"There is an angel singing for my husband, she's calling him to heaven." Woody watched her curiously, she seemed calmed by the idea, and he didn't have the heart to tell her that the voice was very human.

He settled for smiling and nodding at her, as he led her to the elevators. She thanked him and hit the button for the lobby, closing her eyes in a tired resignation as the doors closed. Woody made his way back to Jordan's office, wondering what was keeping her so late, playing her guitar. He'd come to see if she was still in, to try and drag her out to a club or bar, something fun and homicide free.

Her office was dark, but he could see her silhouette, staring out the window, strumming her guitar, one of few permanent fixtures in her life. He now heard her singing loud and clear, and smiled, opening the door, as he realized that the woman was right, she did sound like an angel.

Jordan started and turned, abruptly ending her song, but smiling when she saw Woody. Then her cheeks took on a pinkish hue when she realized he found her sitting in the dark, staring out her window, singing and playing her guitar.

"Hey, I just found someone in the crypt." He greeted, watching her tense and bolt upright, prepared to defend the room full of dead.

"Who? What were they doing?" She demanded.

"Relax Jordan, it was O'Malley's wife. She just wanted to see her husband, and since you're in the dark, she assumed no one was here and let herself in." he came to stand by her desk, half-sitting, half-leaning on the edge.

"Oh, was she okay?"

"Actually yeah, strangely, seemed to think an angel was singing, to call her husband to heaven." He smiled as her cheeks went pink again. Jordan was not modest, and didn't blush, but tonight it just seemed to be coming out, and Woody liked having the upper hand for once.

"Well, I don't think anybody's ever called me that." Usually when people chose a label to bestow upon her it was more in the vein of 'crazy' or 'pain in the ass'.

"That's not a surprise."

She glared at him playfully, pretending to be offended. "Oh come on, I'm not that bad Hoyt."

"Tell that to my doctor the next time he takes my blood pressure." Woody knew Jordan would be the death of him one day, and Macy while she was at it, constantly scaring the hell out of them with the insane risks she took.

"Who's keeping you chained to me?" She shot back.

"The state of Massachusetts, and the city of Boston," He retorted, just as quickly.

Her nose twitched slightly, and a grin appeared upon her face, as she went in for the kill. "So why did they send you here tonight?"

Woody allowed his mouth to curl up, knowing she'd gotten him. He moved behind her desk, and wrapped an arm around her, sweeping her toward the door. "Come on Angel, let's get a drink."

Her nose twitched again at the nickname and she rolled her eyes at him, but she didn't remove his arm, as they walked out of the darkened morgue.

* * *

_So kind of angsty, but not really sad, like the last story I posted here. And, I'm actually an atheist, but I liked this idea, so I went with it. Thanks for reading, and please leave a review!_


End file.
